Chapter Text
Slowly, as if out of nowhere, there's a radiating warmth spreading through Yuta's body. It starts shyly, from right above his heart and travels with tardiness, barely an inch a minute, down his smooth skin. It's comforting and yet tantalising. It's light and yet so present.
The touch stays there, hovering above his stomach, as a feather in the wind. With tired lashes, Yuta's eyes flutter open, and timid morning light filters in. It's not a lot. The curtains must be drawn (his brain fills him in as it slowly kicks back into consciousness). The air around him is chilly, yet the ghostly touch so hot. It has travelled another inch or so, resting now above his navel. The room is silent, barely a whisper. The bed creeks lightly as there's a slight shift on the mattress. There's another body to Yuta's right.
He's staring at a white ceiling, lightly coloured golden by one stray morning ray. On cue, the caress moves lower, and Yuta's senses kick into reboot. He moves his toes tentatively and touches cold feet. His knees buckle slightly, and his thigh is met with a hot press of someone else's flesh. The touch has reached the band of his shorts by now. Dangerous territory, Yuta's half-asleep mind provides. Yet he can't quite get his muscles to respond and remove the intruding hand, the calloused fingers trailing the thin strip of hair right above his hips.
A little bit more awake by the minute, Yuta's still sleepy eyes land on the desk close to the bed. A laptop sits open in screensaver mode. He must have fallen asleep watching a movie last night. Next to it, a switch rests on a stack of messy papers and a JSL book. The pages touch two empty cups of ramen, empty and discarded. It takes Yuta a while, but with the help of the last clue, a throat spray framing by the mess to complete the composition, he finally figures it out - this is not his room.
With the sudden realisation comes another wave of heat spreading through his body (especially his groin). The searing pleasure follows the lazy hand caressing his front and climbing back to his chest. Yuta turns his head, the soft blue sheets rustling under him. He's met with a small sound that he almost misses. A slight whimper, a little moan. He feels it more than he hears it. Like a ripple in his energy, it vibrates around his eardrums and does nothing to stifle the pool of desire burning like a little trashcan fire in Yuta's lower half. Another shift on the bed, another light touch on his chest, and his cheek brushes against delicate blond messy hair that smells of fresh shampoo and something else. Something so distinctly—
Toge . He must have fallen asleep in Toge's room. Again.
Yuta freezes, unsure of what to do. His muscles don't respond to his call, yet his skin is burning up under Toge's hand, which has somehow snuck up under Yuta's t-shirt. Slowly coming to his senses (once more because Yuta has already lost the tiny sliver of lucidity he had just gained), Yuta notices that's not the only point of contact between the two boys. Toge's cold feet are drawing into him, searching for warmth. Their thighs are pressed so intimately close, both revealed by sleeping shorts. Yuta's hipbone is rubbing against Toge's hips, while the boy's head is resting on his shoulder, nudging closer to Yuta's neck, leaving huffs of warm breath on his prickled skin.
The hand caressing his front under the shirt is still the biggest offender. Not that Yuta minds, or more accurately, he's not sure if he minds or not, if this is okay or not, if this is something proper or if it rather falls on the side of…
Either way, his body betrays the whirlpool of anxiety and restraint brewing inside Yuta, and it seems all too happy to receive the attention, the pull of another's, for it has missed the contact. He has never been really accustomed to things as simple as intimacy, and this is all new to him - he likes it, loves it really, the way Toge's calloused fingers trace his chest in a sleepy hazy pattern, making his hips want to buck. It feels unnatural yet so known that his body needs no instructions on behaving under Toge's meticulous care.
The object of Yuta's pleasure is sound asleep. He's even snoring lightly now that his nose is pressing into Yuta's shoulder like he has drawn closer for more warmth. Yuta doesn't mind. The dorm rooms do get chilly, with the turn of autumn just around the corner, and the blue comforter they are sharing doesn't seem to be enough. Toge's face is relaxed, much more than usual. His face is not covered, and it's a rare opportunity to gaze past the bridge of his nose.
Toge has grown, too, in the time they have spent apart. With Yuta's return from Africa barely two months ago, he can't help not notice. They are both older, after all, dipping past the middle of their second year. Toge has grown just a tad taller, but his face has set into a handsome line, his shoulders just a little wider, and the muscles on his legs slightly more defined. He still has his boyish looks. But there's something else to it, Yuta thinks, because he has never really wanted to inspect Toge's appearance before like he does now. His lips are slightly parted, and Yuta finds them pretty. The markings on his face, now revealed just for Yuta to see in the safe familiarity of the bed they've been sharing pretty much since Yuta returned, are utterly captivating, drawing the other boy in. He barely stifles the urge to touch them. He would love to trace them, just to see if they would vibrate under his thumbs; if the cursed energy inside them would resonate against his fingers, just like Yuta's skin warms up under Toge's palm, now splayed flat on Yuta's stomach, mere inches above his shorts.
Yuta pushes down a shiver and keeps his eyes trained on Toge's face (he can look at his best friend's face, right? Right ?). They linger on his long blond lashes, still closed, asleep. His hair falls down his forehead, and Yuta can't help but remark just how well the new style suits him now that he's not relying on selfies and video calls to admire it. The undercut looks soft and highly enticing, perfect for Yuta's fingers to trace through. Fortunately, he stops himself before he does something he cannot take back. Still, his mind kicks into overdrive, cursed energy spiking at his fingertips - another minor anxiety attack caused by— by what?
What the hell was he just thinking?
Toge is attractive, sure. He grew up into a handsome young man while they were been apart. Yuta figures a year overseas does that - he imagined Toge would change, grow taller, start shaving, grow out his hair or change up his style. He feared most that Toge might not be the same. Happily, from the second he pulled Toge into the first hug, right as he set his bag on the dorm floor, he knew that couldn't be the case. Toge is his best friend. Ever since the first year, ever since that silly Hapina mall mission. And their friendship only grew over shared meals, borrowed books, late movie nights and audacious pranks. Even with Yuta halfway across the globe, they still played games together and texted daily.
And just that easily, they have fallen back into the same old ritual, with Yuta back in the dorms. Shared ramen cups, lengthy JSL lessons, silly anime and some pretty competitive Smash Bros (on Toge's part, at least, since Yuta is still shit at it). And just that easily, long nights turned to sleepovers, and Yuta can't remember if he slept even one night in the last three weeks or so in his own bedroom at night.
But the touch , that is new.
The closeness is something that they have always shared. But not a physical one, not a caress that feels closer to what the older boys like Hakari talk about in the locker rooms. The pull in Yuta's core is novel as well. Sure, he is no stranger to his body, like any seventeen-year-old, but to want so badly to touch another, and a boy nonetheless, is something he doesn't quite know how to interpret.
Surely this is normal, right ?
Best friends have sleepovers all the time. Friends share food, games, and shirts, so why not also beds? Friends hug each other and high-five, and he and Toge would spar each day, so… so why does the lingering touch feel so heavy on his chest?
Surely this is normal, Yuta muses again. He would do the same with Maki, Panda, or even the first years, right? He keeps the thought in his mind for less than a second before he almost gags. Sharing a bed with any of the younger students would be downright strange (Yuta thinks he'd die of embarrassment before even getting to it). Panda would just politely kick him out. Maki wouldn't bother with politeness. So why does Toge search out his warmth, enveloping Yuta like a second blanket, much more comfortable, much heavier, much more (dare Yuta say) arousing?
Arousing. That is a dangerous word. It must be a mistake to have his mind slip into that treacherous territory. Yuta blames the lack of sleep as his eyes land on the yellow digital clock set on Toge's dresser. 06:21. Early. Way too early for either of them. He ought to go back to sleep. Yes. Push Toge's hand gently away, and write it off as a mistake done while clearly asleep.
Then why can't he bring himself to do it? A simple move, even a shift. A simple shake would suffice. Yet Yuta stays, frozen in sheets that smelled like Toge, surrounded by the mess in his room, caressed gently by a boy he can't help not think was gorgeous.
With a new slide of Toge's hand heading lower down his front, Yuta's heart jumps straight up into his throat, and he finally shifts with a jerk, sitting upright. He doesn't trust himself with the thoughts flooding his mind, the skin warming at the slightest touch, and the explicit desire pooling in his groin. His sleepy friend slowly wakes up, too, laying on his side with a little shiver against the cold room now that Yuta has pulled the blanket off in his hasty (and cowardly) retreat.
Sitting on the bed, leaning against Toge's headboard, Yuta pushes a strained smile on his lips, eyebrows angling up as purple eyes stare at him shyly, still clouded by lingers of sleep. Toge's white t-shirt, large and hanging loose, has now drifted down in his twist and exposes his long pale neck and just the beginning of a shoulder, strong and well-defined. Yuta can't remember the last time he thought he'd like to see what Toge would look like without it. Silly thought. Silly, stupid —
"Shake?" Toge mouths with a raspy voice, eyes now fully open. His hair is splayed on the pillow, and the contrast is nothing short of beautiful. With something akin to a lingering shame, Yuta can't help but think the snake marks on his cheeks are stunning in the dim morning light.
"I'm okay, I'm okay. Sorry, I just woke up. Uhm, bad dream," Yuta splutters, a little too fast for the obvious excuse to land as casual. "It's still early, so you can still go back to sleep? If you want to?"
If Toge notices his fluster, he doesn't mention it. He offers Yuta a small aloof smile, clearly still drawn to the lure of a comfy bed. He reaches for his phone, dressed in a cute yellow case - a gift from Yuta nonetheless - and checks the time, turning it around for Yuta to see.
Yuta knows that face, the one Toge is making. With a raised brow and a quivering lip, there's no need for rice-ball ingredients to grasp the meaning of it.
"Yeah, it's early, I know," Yuta whines.
" Sleep more? Don't need to be up until eight ," Toge signs lazily.
"I know we don't have to be up, but I…" Yuta can't bring himself to be honest. What can he even say? So instead, he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind and doubles down on it. "I thought I'd join Maki for a run. She's been asking us for ages, you know?"
He doesn't know why he words it like a question and realises it makes him even more suspicious. He's not sure why he's flustered either, and Yuta knows he must be incriminating himself. Truthfully, he prays Toge is too hammered by sleep to question it further or to use those ever-observing eyes to figure out what's wrong with his friend.
Fortunately for Yuta, Toge keeps the inquisitive look on his face for just a little longer before nodding slowly and muttering a small "Shake." He shifts again so he lays flat on his back, arms spreading slightly. With a little bit of effort, given Toge's incredible indisposition to wake up early, he signs slowly once more for Yuta to understand, " Why do you encourage her? "
It's easy for Yuta to laugh, and he remembers that this is Toge. Toge, who likes to swap the salt with sugar, steals Maki's skirt, eats Panda's disgusting bamboo mochi and even manages to drive Gojo mad. Toge, who's easy and comfortable and sweet. No need to feel awkward, right?
He smiles and laughs softly, trying to smooth out his hair. "Just for once. To get her off our backs."
Toge yawns and waves Yuta off with a small casual gesture. "Shake." Yuta interprets that as a cheeky suit yourself .
Despite his cover story, he doesn't budge just yet. His sneakers wait by the door, knocked against Toge's sprawled shoes. His phone rests on the desk, charged and ready to go, connected to a second cable to a plug in the wall. He even has two hoodies hanging on a hook on Toge's door (one for him to put on, the other for Toge to keep). His history essay is spread on Toge's desk, mixed in with manga that Toge has given him to read. Even the pile of dirty clothes in the corner of the room contains a t-shirt or two of his and a pair of PacMan socks that Yuta forgot to take back to wash. It's almost as if in the past two months, he has moved in little by little until the spaces melted into one another, and Toge's room somehow became a shared living space. Toge has even bought a second pillow for his bed.
The realisation slaps Yuta harder than Maki's hits. It's not new information. Not any of this. Yet somehow now, gazing at Toge's smiling face, eyes closed and drifting back to sleep, his head pieces it together yet doesn't quite want to admit it.
This is normal, right? Right ?
His face sours for a second with doubt. Against his will, he somehow steps out of bed with a sigh. He ought to stick to the stupid cover story and find Maki outside. 06:41. He'll probably catch her on the last laps, so at least the strain would be easy on him. Yuta makes an effort to sit up, and despite his better judgement, he looks over at Toge again, expecting to find him sound asleep.
Instead, Toge's perceptive eyes are gazing back at him. Yuta's not sure (or better yet, doesn't want to put a word on it) what Toge sees in his gaze, but the boy reaches out and catches Yuta's wrist in his grasp. Toge's fingers are warm, calloused, soft. Yuta knows. His skin jolts at the touch.
"Takana?"
"I— yeah, mhm, of course. I'm alright."
Toge raises an eyebrow in his signature ' bullshit ' style. There's no need for signs for Yuta to know Toge's not buying, so in a desperate attempt, Yuta straightens, and the wrist is released with what he could swear can only be described as a slow lingering touch.
Maybe he does need the run. He obviously needs to clear his head.
Yuta doesn't generally like to resort to emotional blackmail, but he doesn't think he can take the horrifying cringe he feels aimed towards himself for much longer. So he slowly, clumsily signs, " See you later, ok? "
As Yuta knew he would, Toge brightens up in a flash. He'd once mentioned how awfully endearing he finds that Yuta tries for him, and suddenly Yuta is reminded again just how sweet Toge can sometimes be. The boy smiles up at him and moves to sign in return, " Course. You promised you'd help me raid Maki's books. I know she has smut. "
" She will.. ." Yuta tries to sign but fumbles, and Toge lights up even more. He makes a crude gesture with his hands, and Yuta figures his friend must have gotten the gist of it.
" Fuck you up? "
"Something like that," Yuta answers.
" Only if she catches me, " Toge signs and winks and Yuta can't help but be drawn to how his nimble fingers move. He wonders if now every little sign Toge does will remind him of how those same fingers felt not even half an hour ago.